Amy was in the bar, vacuuming the carpet. Teresa found her there, having been drawn by the loud irregular hummung of the machine. Amy switched off as soon as she saw her.
'May 1 help?'
'Yeah ... Mr Surtees. Is he around?'
'He should be. Maybe down in the cellar?' To Teresa's surprise the young woman stamped three times with the heel of her shoe. 'He'll come up if he's there,' she said.
A few moments later Nick appeared at the door. He was carrying a large plastic crate filled with dark bottles of lager, their caps wreathed in shiny golden foil. He dumped the crate on the counter, and because Amy had turned the vacuum cleaner on again he led Teresa back to his office.
She said, 'I can't help noticing you're into computers.'
'Not really,' he said. 'Not as much as 1 used to be, anyway. 1 use that one for writing letters, and keeping the bar records. Amy does the hotel bookings on it as well.'
'I've been hoping you could help me with mine,' Teresa said. 'I've brought my laptop, but I'm not sure if 1 can use it while I'm in England. It's got rechargeable batteries, but 1 have to run them up from the mains and things are probably different here.'
'Did you notice the terminal connector in your room? That's compatible with most laptops.'
'No, 1 didn't see it.' Teresa realized that the strangeness of the hotel and the English accents were making her feel as if she was unable to look after herself, She had started acting what must seem to these people like the role of the helpless woman.
lt was actually she who had bought the laptop in the first place, not Andy. He said he saw so many computers at work he didn't want to have to deal with them at home too. Teresa saw a lot of them at work too, but what that did for her was underline how useful a portable could be. These days she couldn't imagine how she could ever function without hers.
'There's something else,' Teresa said. 'There must be a pharmacy here somewhere?'
'There's a branch of Boots. And a couple of smaller places. Do you want me to tell you how to find them?'
'No, thanks. 1 thought I'd take a walk through the town.'
lt was a cold, brisk day, but without rain. She left the hotel, wearing her quilted coat with the hood, and walked up the road at the side of the hotel. She left behind her the nondescript area of twentiethcentury town houses and shops, and came almost at once into the Old Town area.
At one time Bulverton had sat astride an inlet of the sea, where there was a natural harbour. lt had silted up and fallen into disuse many centuries ago, but all the houses in this part of town were built as if the harbour was still there, facing in from the declivities of the shallow hills around. Where Phoenician and Levantine trading ships had reputedly once docked was now a park, well covered for the most part with trees, and containing a small pond for boating and ducks, a bowling green and tennis courts. The houses had been built, replaced and rebuilt many times over the centuries, but apart from a few places of modem infilling, presumably after German bombing during World War II, the houses were all pleasantly matured. Even the modem ones did not look too out of place.
Close to the park the buildings were mostly small cottages or houses, many of which had been turned into shops, restaurants or businesses, but above and behind them rose several terraces of larger white and pastelcoloured houses. Standing there, looking at the rows of attractive houses, Teresa felt a wave of recognition sweep over her. She knew she had been here before, in this park, in this gracious, resigned town. A sudden sickness rose in her: denying the unwelcome sensation, she snatched her head to one side, as if in an angry rejection of someone or something.
lt worked, and she felt her head clearing. Her migraines
were something she had always kept to herself, protecting her job. Anything that seemed to indicate chronic frailty was not a wise career move with the Bureau. Taking medication created another risk: all federal agents had to submit to random urine and blood tests, and you never knew what conclusions the testing teams would draw from the presence of certain chemicals in the body. A friend of Andy's had put her on to a psychotherapist in Washington, and he had taught her techniques to help ward off the onset of attacks. They worked once or twice. Later she had tried other methods.
Feeling a little better, Teresa walked through the centre of the park itself, enjoying the peaceful ambience in the cold air, with the surrounding houses constantly glimpsed through the shrouding branches of wellgrown trees and shrubs. She could easily imagine how peaceful this park would be in summer. The noise of traffic was muted, even now, when most of the branches were bare.
She sauntered through slowly, half expecting to come across a hamburger franchise or sports store ruining the place, but there was none of that and the whole park gave off a sense of pleasant neglect. In fact, the only sign of sponsorship she could see anywhere was a number of wooden benches placed at various points, each with a small plaque, commemorating the lives of some of the residents of the town. Teresa was particularly touched by one:
Teresa walked as far as she could in the park, coming eventually through a gate into a residential street that ran across the top. She turned right along this, then followed the perimeter of the park and walked back down in the direction of the sea, pausing to glance in the windows of the small shops along the way. Here she discovered that appearances can be deceptive: many of the quietly prosperouslooking shops turned out, when you were actually standing in front of them, to be closed or in some cases closed and empty. Many of them were antiques shops or secondhand book stores, but almost without exception they were unstaffed and unlit. The antiques shops, in particular, looked as if they were used more for storage than for selling to the public. One or two had printed cards thumbtacked to the door, directing the delivery of packages to nearby alternative addresses.
Teresa peered through several of their windows, dreaming about being able to buy some of the chests, lightstands, tables, cases of books, dressers. They looked so solid, so well made, so old. Staring at the ancient pieces of furniture, Teresa felt the subliminal resonance of a different kind of culture from the one she was used to: the civilization of Europe, its history, long traditions, old families, deeprooted customs. She was still enough of a Briton to recognize with a kind of longing the culture she had left behind when her father removed her to the US
all those years ago, but also enough of an American to feel the urge to acquire some of it by purchase. None of the shops gave any indication of prices, though, and then there would always be the problem of shipping
